Dexter - Devils and Angels
by WilliamShipley
Summary: The end of the Dexter series left him in a rather unexpected place. I can't imagine him staying there forever, something will eventually break the peace of the Northwest. Perhaps something like this. I do not, of course, own any rights to Dexter.
1. Just a Lumberjack

Dexter stood well back from the truck and watched as another log was loaded onto the flatbed.

 _Driving a logging truck involves a lot of waiting – and staying out of the way of the multi-ton logs that could casually crush a man. Sometimes I wonder if the world would be better off if I 'accidentally' got in the way of one. But the will to live always outweighs the desire for death. Just as it did in the face of the hurricane._

A distant honking sound drew his attention and he looked up into the gray sky to watch the V shape pattern of Canadian geese flying overhead.

"Winter's coming again," Harry's voice said to him.

Dexter glanced over to where he imagined Harry to be standing. "I hated winter last year, it was so cold - and the snow."

Harry smiled, "It was your first real winter. You spent your whole life in Florida. It gets a lot colder in the Pacific Northwest."

Dexter gave him a twisted smile, "I wasn't ready for it. This year I know what to expect."

"I understand wanting to move far from Miami, but why here? I would have thought that Las Vegas would be a better destination." Harry complained, "There are lots of people in Las Vegas, there's no one here except a handful of other loggers and the occasional hunter."

"That's the point," Dexter said, "I don't want to be around people, all I bring is death."

"And life. The code means that others live as a result of the lives you take." Harry consoled, "That's the compromise that Doctor Vogel and I came up with. How we could let you satisfy your Dark Passenger and still have a positive effect on the world. A way you could live with it."

"It's not something _you_ could live with," Dexter observed, "seeing what I really am killed you. It killed Deb, and Rita."

"Trinity killed Rita," Harry objected.

"Rita didn't fit Trinity's pattern, he killed her because of me. When you deal in death, death follows you. I don't want it around Harrison."

"It was a mistake to try to have a family," Harry said. "Trying to live in two worlds was always more dangerous than focusing on what you needed to do."

"Right now, I need to get these logs on the road," Dexter observed.

The crane loaded the last log onto the truck and moved to start loading the next truck in line. Dexter walked toward the truck, pulling the black leather gloves out of his back pocket and putting them on. He pulled the chains out of their storage bin and attached them on one side, tossing them across the load to the other side. Circling the truck he firmly attached the chains to that side, carefully making sure they were securely fastened before moving to the cab.

With a look around to see where the other vehicles were parked, he climbed into the cabin and started the engine. Putting the truck in gear he carefully steered through the loading area onto the small dirt road that had been plowed out. In a few moments he was on an actual paved road heading for the mill.

"This isn't the place for you, Dexter. When you kill again, and eventually you will have to kill again, you'll be caught. In such a small community it will be too hard to hide your actions. The first rule of the code is: don't get caught."

Dexter looked at Harry in the seat next to him, "What if I don't kill again?"

"Son, I know you've wished for a normal life, but if that were possible I would have given it to you. Your Dark Passenger was too strong." Harry looked sad, "All we could hope for is to give you a means to deal with it."

"Hannah doesn't believe in the Dark Passenger," Dexter said, "she says it's just a part of me."

"But you do," Harry observed.

"I guess I do," Dexter agreed, "but it's not the only part of me. Part of me loves Harrison, and Hannah. Part of me loved Deb and Rita and Lumen. Doctor Vogel was wrong. I do have real feelings for people."

"Dexter, the pressure always builds up in you and you have to kill." Harry admonished, "It's who you really are. You must be feeling it now. You haven't killed since Miami."

Dexter shook his head, "I haven't felt the pressure since Miami. I think it's sleeping, waiting for the call of blood. It's always been about the blood."

"Blood is how it all started," Harry observed, "Your whole life has been built around blood. Your Dark Passenger was born in your Mother's blood."

"Which is why I'm a lumberjack," Dexter said, "I don't want to wake it up again."


	2. Steak and Beer

Dexter pulled up in front of the restaurant in his pickup-truck, a vehicle in good repair but not shiny or new. _The Waystation_ was a large, weathered, wooden building with its name on the front and neon beer signs in the windows. He climbed out and went inside. The interior was more bar than restaurant but served both purposes. There was a pool table in one corner with a couple of men playing pool.

He walked to the bar and the bartender looked up at his approach greeting him, "Roger."

"Jim," Dexter returned the greeting with a nod.

The bartender reached under the counter and came up with a beer, popped the cap off and slid it across to Dexter. "I'll have Sue get your steak."

"Thanks," Dexter said and strolled to a table next to the wall taking a drink from his beer. He sat with his back to the wall and surveyed the restaurant.

The crowd was typical, a bunch of lumberjacks and other workers, a sprinkling of women, some young, some not so young. The overall impression was of jeans and flannel. On the far side of the 'dining' area were a couple of tables full of men on the young side of middle age who ostensibly were dressed the same as the rest of the patrons, but their clothes were newer, the colors not so faded. They didn't look like they spent their days in hard labor.

"Hunters from Seattle, staying at the lodge," Harry commented at his side.

Dexter glanced over, took a drink of beer and nodded, "There are still a few. The season will be over soon."

"They think they're hunters," Harry said with a slight hint of pride, "you could show them a thing or two about real hunting."

"But they don't fit the code," Dexter objected, "and I don't feel the need. The whole idea just makes me tired. It's cost me too much."

Sue, the waitress, came from behind the counter carrying a plate. She looked to be in her mid forties, friendly and confident. "Here's your steak, Roger," Sue said putting the plate containing a steaming steak in front of him. "Can I get you another beer?"

"Still working on this one," Dexter said, "but thanks".

She smiled at him and headed back toward the kitchen. Dexter focused his attention on his plate and cut off a bite of steak.

"Steak and beer, the traditional Morgan dinner," he heard Debra's voice and looked up, seeing her in his mind across the table from him.

Dexter gave her a smile and slightly raised the fork with the bite in salute, "I miss eating it with you."

"What the fuck, Dex," She leaned forward.

Dexter looked puzzled, "What?"

"What's this fucking Nanook of the North thing you've got going? You're supposed to be with Harrison." She glared at him.

"It's not safe for Harrison to be around me," Dexter explained. "It's not safe for anyone I love to be around me. It's better to live up here by myself."

"So you left my nephew with fucking Hannah McKay? She's a fucking serial killer," Debra complained. "I understand you going off with her, you two shared a common thing, but sending your son off alone with her? What the fuck were you thinking?"

"I couldn't go, Deb," Dexter said, "Not after I killed you."

"You didn't fucking kill me, Dexter," Debra said, "That bastard Saxon killed me, it wasn't your fault."

"I should have taken care of him, Deb," Dexter said, "He was my responsibility."

"The fuck he was, he was _my_ fucking responsibility. I was just too slow. I was the one with the fucking badge."

"I was still supposed to take care of him, even if I just had a laminate," Dexter disagreed, "It's what I do."

"The fuck you were, you were supposed to take care of your family. Leaving the fucker to me was the right thing to do. You finally made the right choice."

"I don't think I did," Dexter said miserably. "It cost you your life."

"In the fucking line of duty," Debra said, "I'm a fucking hero – it's a hell of a lot better than I really deserve. You and I both know that. They'll probably give me a fucking bench next to fucking LaGuerta. There's fucking irony for you."

Dexter looked down at his steak and sighed.

"Mind if I sit down?"

Dexter looked up and saw a good looking blonde woman in the ubiquitous jeans and flannel, with an extra button unbuttoned in her cleavage. He'd seen her on previous occasions but didn't know her name. He had been so deep in thought that he hadn't noticed her approach.

 _Yes I do mind._

He opened his mouth, trying to think of something to say to discourage her. She took the pause as permission and pulled out the chair across from him and sat in it, setting her beer down. "I'm Darlene," she said holding out her hand.

"Roger," Dexter said, awkwardly reaching out to shake hands as he tried to get control of the situation.

"I notice you here every night," Darlene said, "You always sit alone. Jim told me you work at the logging operation."

"I drive a truck," Dexter explained.

"I work the desk at the lodge," Doreen said in return.

"I heard there wasn't much business this time of year," Dexter offered struggling for something to say. Small talk was not Dexter's forte.

"It's down from the summer season. We're going to close the cabins in a couple of weeks."

"I didn't know the lodge closed for the winter," Dexter said.

"Just the cabins, they're too hard to keep warm. We keep the main lodge open. We're down to one cabin rented this week, the rest are staying at the lodge. That's pretty much our whole guest list sitting over there," Darlene gestured with her bottle toward the tables of hunters. She turned back to Dexter and took a breath, "So, tell me about yourself."

 _I kill people and put their body parts in plastic bags._

"I'm not very interesting," Dexter said, "I just drive a logging truck."

Darlene leaned forward, "I think there's more to you than that. There's something in your eyes that I find fascinating."

Dexter looked away.

 _Has she seen my Dark Passenger?_

Noticing his embarrassment she sat back, "Anyway, I thought it might be nice to get acquainted – it's not like there's a lot of nightlife out here."

"It _is_ pretty quiet," Dexter agreed.

"So, we have to make our own nightlife," Darlene leaned forward with a little smile.

 _I came here to avoid my night life._

"I can't," Dexter held up his hand using Rita's ring as a shield.

"Oh," Darlene's smile faded. "Jim didn't tell me you were married. He said you were never with anyone."

"She's a long way away," Dexter explained.

 _A very long way._

"So, are you separated?" she asked.

"I'm just up here for the work," Dexter said.

"It must get lonely," Darlene observed.

"I like the quiet," Dexter said.

Darlene shrugged, "Can't blame a girl for trying." She took a drink from her beer and gave him a little salute, "I'll let you get back to your steak. Nice finally meeting you." She got up and turned from the table.

"That was dangerous, Dexter. You can't let someone like her get close to you," Harry warned.

"I don't intend to let anyone get close to me," Dexter agreed. "That's why I came here. I wonder what she saw in my eyes?"

"They say 'eyes are a window to the soul'," Harry quoted.

"Do I even have a soul," Dexter wondered.

"Of course you do, you jackass," Debra added her voice to the discussion.

"I just want to finish my dinner," Dexter complained, glancing from his image of Deb to Harry. He looked down to cut off another piece and when he looked up he was sitting alone again.

 _I don't think I want to have a soul. To have a soul would mean that I might face even greater punishment than I already have. And if I have a soul, what of the other monsters I have killed? Did they have souls too? Could someone with a soul do what we do?_

Dexter finished his steak and beer in his customary solitude. As he ate, his eye was drawn involuntarily to Darlene as she moved around the room chatting with various people.

"She _is_ a good looking woman," Harry commented appreciatively.

"A lot of the men in here think so," Dexter agreed. "A number of them have their eyes on her."

 _At that moment I saw it – in the eyes of one of the hunters as he watched her. It was something dark and primal. A look I had seen many times before, one I knew well. His Dark Passenger was on the hunt!_

"Finally, a target," Harry said with satisfaction.

"We don't know that," Dexter disagreed, "I could be mistaken."

"But we know you're not," Harry said.

 _I wasn't, I knew that look._

"I still have to do the research," Dexter said. "The code requires that I be sure."

"And you will be," Harry said, "you have to find out more about him."

 _I had thought that my Dark Passenger had been sleeping, that perhaps I would find peace in the gray numbness that my life had become. But the moment I saw the look in his eyes my Dark Passenger awoke and filled me with energy. I was alive again._


	3. Alive Again

Dexter had moved his pickup truck away from the lights at the entrance to _The Waystation_ and was parked at the edge of the parking lot where he could keep an eye on the entrance. He sat patiently watching.

"So why the fuck are we watching this guy?" Debra asked, "Because he looked at a girl?"

Dexter glanced over and could see Debra and Harry sitting on the seat with him, Debra in the middle.

"Dexter has a talent for spotting killers," Harry said, "If he saw something, there was probably something to see."

"I've seen him do it," Debra agreed. "He has a fucking gift for it."

"It's my Dark Passenger," Dexter explained, "It saw his darkness and woke up."

"You talk like it's separate from you," Debra said, "It's just urges. Everyone has fucking urges, Dex. You need to learn to control them."

 _There's no twelve step program for serial killers._

"Dexter's not like everyone," Harry said, "He can't be expected to behave the same way that normal people do. Doctor Vogel said that his urges would always control him. That's why we came up with a code to protect him from the consequences they would bring."

"Fuck that, he's up to his ass in fucking consequences." Debra protested, "Vogel didn't even try to treat Dexter as a child. She just wanted him to be her fucking Perfect Monster. She didn't think Dexter could love someone. That he didn't love Harrison, or me."

"I do love you, Deb," Dexter protested.

"Fucking right, and I love you, Bro," Debra said, "Vogel was wrong about that. She was just fucked up over her son. What else was she wrong about?"

"Doctor Vogel warned me that Dexter would appear to care about others but it wouldn't be real love, just something to make him feel good." Harry said. "Psychopaths don't really care about anyone except themselves."

"So it makes him feel good to be fucking Nanook of the North," Debra protested, "To freeze his balls up here while his son is raised by a fucking serial killer?"

"I love Hannah," Dexter protested. "She'll take care of my son."

"Exactly my point, Vogel was fucking wrong," Debra said. "He does care for other people."

 _I did love Harrison, and Deb. I loved Hannah, and Rita, and Lumen. I had loved a lot of people, including Harry. Had Doctor Vogel been wrong about me? Did she give Harry bad advice? But I also felt the need to kill – that was real. To have a killer on my table and savor the moment of control when I could make them face what they had done, to see their blood flow out. It was always about the blood._

The group of hunters came out of the door. They stood for a moment under the lights, exchanging goodbyes, then headed for separate cars, some of them grouped together but the hunter that Dexter was watching went by himself to his own car – a late model gray sedan. He got in and after a moment pulled out onto the road.

Dexter started the engine and pulled out to follow him.

"Don't get too close, he'll see you,' Harry warned, "There isn't any traffic to hide in."

 _Harry was right, up here every car stood out._

A few miles up the highway, the gray sedan slowed and pulled onto a dirt road. Dexter slowed to watch him drive, then drove past.

"So he's the one in the cabin," Dexter observed.

"A killer would want privacy," Harry agreed. "He fits the pattern."

 _At least so far_.

"So, now what?" Debra asked.

"We go back and take a look," Dexter said. He continued to drive for about a mile and then slowed at a spot where there was another turn off and made u-turn and drove back to the dirt road. As he approached the dirt road, he turned his headlights off then slowed, turning onto it. He drove about a hundred feet along the road, pulled to the side, and stopped the engine.

 _Leaving the car on the highway would attract attention._

The lights of the cabin could be seen through the trees about a hundred yards ahead. Dexter quietly walked down the road, careful not to step on any twigs. When he reached the cabin, he passed the sedan and walked to one of the windows.

"Careful he doesn't see you, Dex." Harry said.

Dexter crouched down and looked through the corner of the glass. The cabin was a single room with a bed on one side and a table and chairs on the other. The Hunter was sitting at the table. Spread in front of him was an array of shining knives on a black cloth. He was carefully polishing one of them, looking at himself in the gleaming blade.

"Fuck me!" Debra whispered.

"He's getting ready," Harry whispered.

Dexter watched for a moment and then quietly moved away from the window and began walking down the road to the car.

"What now?" Harry asked.

"I need to find out all I can," Dexter said, "I'll come back and search the cabin tomorrow when he goes out."

"You should call the police," Debra said. "Let them deal with him."

"Tell the police that a hunter has knives?" Dexter asked mockingly.

"Those aren't fucking hunting knives," Debra protested.

"Of course they're not, but I'd never convince the police I just happened to see them," Dexter said. "If I'm right, I'll take care of him."

"Dex…" Debra began.

"It's what I do," Dexter said. "What I've always done."

He got in the car and slowly backed it up the road until he reached the highway. Carefully checking for oncoming traffic he backed on to the highway and started down the road, back the way he had originally come, turning his lights on as he drove.


	4. Serial Killers Are Us

In the early morning light, Dexter slowly drove past the turn-off to the cabin. Looking down the dirt road, he could see the Hunter's car still parked at the cabin. He drove forward and found the next dirt road a mile further down the road, pulled off and parked his pickup truck to the side, off of the highway.

He got out of the truck and started slowly making his way through the woods back to the cabin. Wearing camouflage he fit in with the trees around him. When he got within sight of the cabin, he stretched out on the ground and began to study it through a small pair of binoculars held in his black gloved hands.

 _This wasn't my normal hunting ground. I had done much more hunting in the urban environment with lots of distractions to hide my presence. I had to be more careful than usual in avoiding being seen. In the end, though, it was a familiar process – waiting patiently for my target to appear and paying attention to everything._

After about a half-hour's wait, the door to the cabin opened and the Hunter emerged carrying a rifle. He was dressed in warm clothes and had an orange vest over his arm. He locked the door behind him and then walked to the back of his sedan. Opening the trunk, he put his gun and vest inside and then closed it. Moving to the driver's side door, he got in, started the engine and drove slowly down the road.

Dexter watched him turn onto the highway and accelerate away. He waited for another five minutes to make sure that the Hunter didn't return for a forgotten item, then got up and moved quickly toward the cabin. He stopped to pick the lock, opened the door and then went inside.

Being inside the cabin gave Dexter more details than his peek though the window the previous evening but provided no surprises. He moved around the room looking for a place that someone would hide things and immediately focused on a footlocker at the foot of the bed.

"That looks like yours," Debra said. "Do all serial killers shop at the same fucking place? Is there a Serial Killers Are Us?"

"There are only so many ways to have something secure and portable," Dexter said.

He bent over the trunk and soon had the lock picked. He opened the lid and found it full of folded clothes."

"Just clothes," Debra said with disappointment.

"Not necessarily," Dexter replied.

He placed his hand on the inside of the trunk against the side and slid it down until his fingertip reached the bottom. He smiled, "False bottom".

Carefully placing the clothes to the side, keeping the relative positioning, he got to the bottom and found he could easily remove it. Underneath it was a rolled up piece of black cloth, packages of plastic garbage bags, a bundle of nylon cable ties, and a bottle containing a clear fluid. There was also a small rosewood jewelry box to the side.

 _This almost makes me feel homesick_.

He picked the jewelry box up and opened it. Inside were seven bundles of different shades of blonde hair.

"Motherfucker," Debra said. "He _is_ a fucking serial killer."

"Not necessarily," Harry said, "sometimes normal people keep clippings of hair as a remembrance."

"That's not likely," Dexter said. He held one up and looked at it, "This was pulled out by the roots. It's a trophy." He placed it back into the box and gently closed it, returning it to its original position. Next he took out the bottle with the clear fluid and very slightly opened the lid, sniffing it, wrinkling his nose.

 _Ether. Hard to use in crowded places. You can't sneak up on someone when you smell like ether._

He returned it to the trunk. Next he took the black cloth and unrolled it. It contained the knives that he had seen the previous night. He held them up one at a time and studied them appreciatively. Finally he rolled them back up in the cloth and then returned it to the trunk. He sat looking at the contents for a long moment.

 _The Hunter's box contained all the supplies I needed. I'd use my own M99, of course, ether is just too sloppy. He had chosen well, I could use his cabin as the kill room. The ritual would be off with no way to duplicate all of my normal routine. Without access to a forensic laboratory, I couldn't identify the victims, there'd be no pictures. I didn't even know the Hunter's name yet. I'd also have to figure out what to do with the body, my usual methods weren't suited to the forest. I'd have to bury the body. I could get it done._

Dexter carefully put the clothes back in the same position they had been in and then relocked the footlocker. With a final look around the room, he left the cabin, locking it behind him and began the trek back to his car.

"When are you going to do it?" Harry asked.

"Probably tonight," Dexter replied. "If he shows up at the tavern again, I'll follow him home."

"And if he doesn't?" Harry asked. "What then?"

"I suppose I can approach the cabin with some story about a car problem," Dexter said. "But I'd rather watch him a while longer, first. I just don't know enough about him."

"You could call the fucking police," Debra said, "This is their job."

"I don't have anything I could tell them," Dexter said, "I know how to do this."

"I know you fucking know how to do it, Dex," Debra said, "but do you have to? Is being able to kill this guy more fucking important than being able to raise your son?"

"He's going to keep putting bundles of blonde hair in that box until someone stops him," Dexter said.


	5. The Blood Calls

Hurrying, Dexter drove by his cabin to change clothes and then rushed to the lumber facility where he found Steve, his boss, in a bad mood.

"How long does it take to change a starter, Driscoll?" Steve demanded. "You said you'd only be an hour late."

"They gave me the wrong one," Dexter said. "It didn't fit. I had to go back and get the right one."

"All right," Steve said grumpily, "I pushed you to the end of the rotation. You better get down to the site. I don't want them to have to wait on you."

Dexter nodded and went out to his truck, climbed in, and was soon on the highway to the cutting site.

"You can't do anything to call attention to yourself," Harry warned. "After the Hunter goes missing the police will be asking questions. If Steve remembers an unusual absence it could cause them to look at you."

"I know that," Dexter said, "a lumberjack doesn't have as much freedom of movement as a forensic analyst."

"Which is why you should be doing something in Seattle or Portland," Harry said. "It would give you more freedom to carry out your more unusual activities."

"Maybe Dexter shouldn't be carrying out those fucking activities," Debra said. "Maybe Dexter should be taking care of his fucking family."

"Dexter can't help himself," Harry said. "He has to kill. It's in his nature."

"I need to do this, Deb," Dexter said. "If I don't, he'll keep killing." Dexter had reached the loading site. He pulled into the clearing and lined his truck up behind the one they were loading. He got out and walked to the tree line to stay out of the way of the loaders. He stood watching them load the large logs.

"You _don't_ have to do this, Dex," Debra said. "It's the job of the fucking police to stop him."

"Dexter doesn't just need to stop him; he needs to kill him with his own hands. It was his need to kill that caused us to come up with the code." Harry said. "Because of the code, Dexter has saved many more lives than he has taken, and the ones he has taken have been people who shouldn't be out on the street. Some might look at him as a hero."

"A hero who fucking butchers people for fun?" Debra asked. "You couldn't face that. You killed yourself. And you know what I had to do. He has to stop doing this."

"I have a darkness in me that overwhelms me, Deb." Dexter said, "I can't help myself."

"Everybody has a fucking darkness in them, Dexter." Debra said. "They fucking control it. A lot of cops deal with darkness. Some of them are ex-military and they've seen and done terrible things. Like Doakes – he was Black Ops."

"Doakes could see me," Dexter said, "Just like I can see the Hunter."

"Doaks had more than his share of darkness," Debra said. "I guess that's why people could believe he was the Bayside Butcher."

"Sergeant Doaks was a good cop," Dexter said.

 _And I'm responsible for his death, too._

"You could be a good cop, Dexter," Debra said, "You're great at hunting the fucking monsters."

"I put them on my table," Dexter said, "I don't think cops are allowed to do that."

"So fucking don't." Debra said. "Just catch them."

"Catch and release?" Dexter asked with a smile.

"Fuck no," Debra said, "throw their ass in a fucking cell."

"Sometimes we do release them, even when we know they are guilty," Harry said. "You know that. That was one of the things that drove me to give Dexter the code."

"So he would fucking kill for you?" Debra said. "How could you do that to him?"

"Doctor Vogel said he would need to kill, we just had to focus him on a way that would help society," Harry said.

"Doctor Vogel was full of shit. Do you really need to kill?" Debra said. "Is it that fucking important to you?"

"The blood calls to me, Deb," Dexter said.

"Is there ever enough fucking blood?" Debra asked. "You have to have spilled a fucking tanker truck full of blood by now."

 _Is there ever enough blood? That was a good question. It has always been about the blood, but as time went on the thrill diminished. What had once been my only way to feel was replaced by real connections. Real feelings for real people. The blood became less important. Could I do without it? How much more damage would I do to the people I love if I tried and failed._

"Time to head out," Dexter said, noticing that the truck was loaded. He headed for the truck putting on his gloves.


	6. Watching the Watcher

Dexter walked into _The Waystation_ and approached the bar. When the bartender looked up, Dexter nodded and said, "Jim."

"Evening, Roger," Jim said, "The usual?"

"Yep," Dexter agreed.

The bartender pulled a beer out from under the counter and gave it to Dexter who took a drink, nodded to him and strolled over to his usual table, sitting with his back to the wall.

"He's here again tonight," Harry said.

"They've been here most nights," Dexter said. "There isn't really anywhere else to go."

"Because you're in the middle of fucking nowhere," Deb commented.

"It does make this more dangerous," Harry added. "I've told you that you need to be in a place with more people. Even something as simple as buying plastic sheeting could attract attention."

"He's done most of the work. He's picked a good kill room and gathered all the supplies," Dexter countered. "I just have to make the approach at his cabin. I already have the M99."

 _Now that I knew what the Hunter was, I could see all the signs as I watched him. He sat quietly among his fellow hunters, not making eye contact with them. He followed their lead, if they laughed, he laughed. He didn't laugh first. This was a man who was trying to blend in, to pretend to be a normal person, just as I did. Just as I used to do. Over time some of my connections had become more real, it had become easier to fit in – although I always felt awkward around people._

Sue, the waitress, came over to the table carrying a plate. "Here's your steak, Roger." She set the plate down in front of him and placed flatware and a napkin to the side.

"Thanks," Dexter said.

"You're welcome," Sue said, "You always have a steak. You know, we have some nice pork chops. You could try something different."

"I like steak," Dexter said with a smile.

 _And it reminds me of Deb._

"Well. Enjoy your dinner," Sue said, "Do you need another beer?"

"No, Have to keep a clear head," Dexter said. "I may be driving soon."

 _And possibly killing someone._

"If you need anything, give me a holler," Sue said and walked away.

"That's sweet, Dex," Debra said.

"It does remind me of eating with you, Deb. I miss you."

"You have to stay focused on the task at hand," Harry said.

 _I watched the Hunter's eyes. The predatory look was still there. He was definitely hunting, but did he have a target? I followed his eyes to see that he was watching Darlene as she stood at the bar watching a game of pool. Was Darlene his target?_

Darlene saw Dexter looking at her and smiled in return, raising her beer bottle in acknowledgement. Dexter nodded.

"Do you think he's after her?" Harry asked.

"He might be," Dexter said. "He seems more focused on her than anyone else."

"If he goes after her tonight, it's going to complicate things," Harry said.

"You can't let him take her, Dex," Debra said.

"I won't," Dexter said. "He may just be looking for now. I'm going to take care of him tonight."

 _I was used to doing much more research. I was used to having my forensics laboratory with database access. I often trailed my targets for days, learning all of their patterns. This was different. I had no laboratory and no access to data. I didn't even know who my target was and how long he would be staying at the cabin. My window of opportunity was uncertain. I could try to find out from Darlene, but when he goes missing she might remember that I had asked about him. Harry was right, this was more dangerous._

"This is very risky, Dexter," Harry said. "You're leaving a lot to chance. Usually you are much more organized with everything planned out."

"I've had to improvise in the past," Dexter said. "It's worked out."

"That's only by necessity," Harry said. "I taught you to plan carefully."

"You could always tell the police," Debra said. "It's their fucking job."

"There's still nothing I can admit to knowing that would interest the police," Dexter said.

"What if you wanted to interest them?" Debra asked. "How would you do it?"

"I suppose I could plant some evidence that would give them probable cause to search his cabin," Dexter mused. "I've done that before. But without an active crime, it would be hard to find something that would get their attention."

"The last thing you want is to have the police involved," Harry said, "What's the first rule?"

"Don't get caught," Dexter recited.

"So, that means no police," Harry said.

"That's only if you're going to kill him yourself," Debra protested.

"It's what I'm good at," Dexter responded. "I kill people like him."

"And that's why your son is in Argentina with a fucking serial killer," Debra said.

"It's what I had to do, Deb, to protect him from what I am," Dexter said.

"Then be someone else, Dexter," Debra said, "Be a father."

 _I wanted to be a good father to Harrison, that's why I came here – to protect him from what I am. Could I be different? Harry hadn't thought so, but Harry had listened to Doctor Vogel and she didn't really know me. Had Harry been wrong all along?_

"I think he _is_ watching Darlene," Harry said. "He does seem to be focused on her."

"So I have to take him out tonight," Dexter said. "I can't give him any more time."

Dexter finished the last bite of his steak and then, leaving a tip for Sue, he got up and went out the door to the parking lot.


	7. Change of Plans

Once again, Dexter moved his pickup truck to the edge of the parking lot and sat, watching for the hunter to come out of _The Waystation_.

"This is just like a stakeout," Debra said. "We should have donuts and coffee."

"Dexter's a serial killer," Harry said, "Not a police officer."

"He'd be a fucking great cop," Debra protested. "He always gets his man."

"And cuts him up into pieces," Harry said. "That's not how it's supposed to work."

"He's just doing what he was trained to do," Debra said.

"We were just trying to channel his urges," Harry said. "Doctor Vogel said we couldn't expect him to lead a normal life."

"Doctor Vogel was fucking wrong about Dexter," Debra fumed, "He's not just a killer, he's a whole person, he's a father, he's been a husband and lover, he's my brother. He deserves a whole fucking life."

"You tried to make me stop, Deb. It didn't work," Dexter said.

"That was me trying to _make_ you, what if _you_ wanted to?" Debra asked

 _What if I wanted to stop? I had always thought of myself as a monster, someone who couldn't help what I was doing. That's what Harry had told me I was. But what if I could control my darkness? Could I have a normal life? Deb was right. Other people had darkness within them and controlled it. Doakes was a good detective, but he had enough darkness in him to see me when others couldn't._

"Here come the hunters," Harry said.

The hunters were exiting _The_ _Waystation_ and splitting up to head for their individual cars.

"He's not with them," Dexter said.

"What do you do now?" Debra asked.

"I wait," Dexter said. "He'll come out eventually."

"This isn't good, Dexter," Harry said. "He may be making his move on Darlene tonight."

A short time later the door opened and a woman came out.

"There's Darlene," Debra said.

And a moment later, the Hunter came out following.

"And there's the target," Harry said. "He _is_ hunting her."

The Hunter said something to Darlene and she turned and came back to him. They spoke for a moment and she pointed down the road, obviously giving directions. He nodded and then she turned and started to walk toward one of the cars. The Hunter stepped forward quickly and grabbed her from behind, putting a cloth over her mouth. She struggled for a moment and went limp. He carried her toward his car.

"Dex, don't let him take her," Debra said.

Dexter opened the door of his truck and started get out but while he was doing so, the Hunter quickly opened his back door, shoved the girl in and got in the front. He had started his engine and was pulling onto the highway before Dexter had gotten more than a couple of steps..

Dexter got back in and closed the door. He started the engine, following onto the highway.

"Dexter, this has gotten too complicated," Harry said. "You have to let him go for now."

"Fuck that," Debra said, "You've got to save her, Dex."

"I can handle this," Dexter said. "I can take him before she wakes up."

"You don't know how long she'll be out." Harry said. "She could wake up and see you, where would you be then?"

"Lumen saw me," Dexter said.

"And that was nearly the end." Harry said. "Let him finish, and then take him."

"Hell, No," Debra said. "You can't let him kill her. Call it in."

"Call it in?" Dexter asked.

"Yes, fucking call 911." Debra said. "You've just seen a man abduct a woman. Call the fucking cops. That's what normal people do. You have a reason they'll listen to."

"It's too dangerous, Dexter," Harry said.

 _This wasn't how I planned to do this, if you could call what I had a plan. Catching him in the act made a careful approach impractical. Harry was right, it was too uncertain. But I couldn't let him kill Darlene._

As he drove, he pulled out his cell phone and punched 9-1-1.

"This is a mistake," Harry said. "This isn't what I taught you."

"911 Emergency, how may I assist you?" The voice on the phone asked crisply.

"I've just seen a man abduct a woman." Dexter said. "He's heading south on route 12 in a gray late model sedan."

"Um, Sir, did you say you saw a woman being abducted?" The phone voice was suddenly a lot less confident and professional. "Are you sure?"

"Yes, I'm following them now," Dexter said. "We're about a mile south of _The Waystation_."

"Ok … Stay on the line. I'll call someone," the voice was a little shaky.

 _Obviously this isn't the kind of call you deal with regularly._

"Sir, a deputy is heading your way. He's about fifteen minutes away," the voice said. "Can you still see the car?"

"Yes, it's a quarter mile in front of me," Dexter said.

"They want you to keep it in sight if you can," the voice said. After a brief pause it added, "Sir, I'm supposed to ask your name."

"Don't give your name, Dexter," Harry said. "You don't want to be involved."

"Tell them your name, Dexter," Debra said. "It's what you're supposed to do when you call 911."

 _The few times I had called the police, I had usually given them anonymous tips. But not when Astor had been kidnapped. That had been life or death. This was too._

"I'm Roger Driscoll," Dexter finally said.

"Ok, Mr. Driscoll," the voice said. "What did you see? Was there a gun?"

"They were in _The Waystation_ parking lot. He put something over her mouth, she struggled and then stopped," Dexter said. "He put her in his car. I didn't see a gun."

"The deputy is heading your way, Mr. Driscoll," the voice said. "Try to keep following the car. Don't try to stop it yourself."

The gray sedan slowed and turned into the dirt road to the cabin.

"He's just turned off the highway onto a dirt road about two and half miles south of _The Waystation_." Dexter said.

After a moment, the voice said, "Don't follow him down the dirt road. Wait on the highway for the Deputy."

"I understand," Dexter said.

Dexter passed the dirt road and went to the next turn off where he made a u-turn and headed back. As he approached the road, he shut his lights off and turned onto it following it slowly.

"Dexter, he told you to stay on the highway," Harry said. "Now that the police are involved you need to do what they say."

"They're still several minutes away." Dexter said. "I don't know how long his ritual is, I need to see what's going on."

Dexter slowly drove up the dirt road to the cabin. The sedan sat in front, empty. The lights were on inside.

"Mr. Driscoll," the voice said. "The Deputy's about ten minutes away. Are you watching the dirt road?"

"I'm at his cabin," Dexter said. "His car is empty. He's taken her inside."

"Sir," the voice was alarmed. "You were supposed to stay on the highway. Don't get out of your car, the Deputy is coming. Wait for him."

Dexter heard a scream from inside the cabin.

"I just heard a scream," Dexter said. "I'm going in."

"Sir! No! Stay in your car," the voice urged.

Dexter dropped the phone on the seat and got out of the pickup truck.

As he headed for the cabin, the phone voice kept calling, "Sir! Are you there? Sir…".


	8. The Hunter is Hunted

"Dexter. Do you have a plan?" Harry asked as Dexter moved toward the window.

"Surprise," Dexter said. "He'll be focused on his victim, caught up in his ritual. I'll have a couple of moments before he reacts to my presence."

Dexter crouched at the window and took a quick peek inside. Darlene was tied to a chair in the center of the room. The floor around her was covered in plastic. The table was near her with the cloth unrolled, the Hunter's knives on display. The Hunter was brandishing one of the knives, enjoying her reaction. There was a stream of blood running down one of her arms from where he had already cut her.

"No, please, no," Darlene was crying.

Dexter moved swiftly to the door. He quietly turned the handle and pulled a fraction of an inch. The door moved freely.

 _He didn't lock the door. He's not expecting anyone to be out here in the middle of the woods._

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a syringe, checking the contents.

"You can't use the M99," Harry said. "The police are coming."

 _Harry was right. They would detect it in his system. I would have to use something that I could explain. There were plenty of knives on the table. I could use knives too, probably better than he could. After all, he only had seven locks of hair, he was just a beginner._

Dexter put the syringe back in his pocket and took a deep breath. He pulled the door open and swiftly strode toward the table holding the array of knives. He was half-way there before the Hunter even noticed that there was someone else in the room. The Hunter turned toward him, his expression frozen in shock as Dexter grabbed a large butcher's knife from the display and turned to face him in a fighter's crouch. There was fear in the Hunter's eyes.

"Who the hell are you?" the Hunter asked in a panicked voice.

 _I was right. I bet he's never used a knife on someone who wasn't tied up. He's preyed on the weak, I've hunted serial killers. The Hunter is now the Hunted._

As Dexter decisively moved toward him, the Hunter swung his knife back and forth ineffectually to try to keep Dexter away. He was clearly beginning to panic.

"Not so easy to use a knife on someone who isn't tied up, is it?" Dexter taunted.

The Hunter's eyes glanced toward the doorway.

 _He knows he's beaten. He's going to try to get away._

Dexter timed his move for when the Hunter swung the knife past him moving away from his body then he sliced into the Hunter's right arm cutting deeply. The Hunter screamed in pain and dropped his knife. Dexter stepped in pulling his knife back for the thrust that would go between the ribs and deep into the heart.

"No, Dex, don't," Debra pleaded.

At the last moment of the thrust, Dexter turned the blade and struck the Hunter in the solar plexus with his fist holding the knife. The Hunter bent over gasping for breath and Dexter raised the knife, blade pointed up, and brought his fist and the back end of the knife down into the Hunter's head, right behind his ear. The Hunter went down and lay unmoving.

Dexter watched the blood flow from the Hunters arm, starting to pool on the floor.

 _Deep but not an arterial wound. It won't be immediately life threatening._

"Dexter, why didn't you kill him when you had the chance," Harry said. "You still could get your kill; tell them that he tried to get back up. You haven't killed since Miami. You need this."

Dexter focused on the spot on the Hunter's back where a thrust would hit the heart, covering the floor with blood. He stared at the blood already on the floor.

 _Was it really was all about the blood?_

"Dexter," Debra said. "Let the police have the fucker, you've saved the girl."

 _I have saved the girl._

Dexter looked at the knife in his hand a long moment then set it back on the table. He picked up a couple of the nylon ties from the table and went to the Hunter, binding his hands and feet. He rolled him over and the Hunter's eyes blearily opened. Dexter reached down and pressed his thumb into the Hunter's forehead between the eyes.

"You're done," Dexter said to him with grim intensity. "There will be no more locks of blond hair for your collection."

The Hunter's eyes focused on Dexter's for a moment and then he looked away.

 _He recognizes the stronger predator._

Dexter straightened up and turned to Darlene who was staring at him wide-eyed, still shaking with tears running down her face.

"Let's get you loose," Dexter said.

He went to the table, picked up a fresh knife and cut the nylon ties holding Darlene to the chair. As he cut her loose, she stood up and wrapped her arms around him crying uncontrollably. Dexter, somewhat embarrassed, held her as she buried her head in his chest and sobbed.

"It's going to be all right," Dexter assured her. "He isn't going to hurt you any more. The police will be here in a minute to take him away." He looked over her shoulder to where he could imagine seeing Debra beaming at him with approval.

"I always thought you were a hero, Dex," Debra said.

He was still holding Darlene when a white-faced Deputy appeared in the doorway holding his weapon.

"You can put your gun away," Dexter said. "He's tied up." He pointed at the Hunter lying on the floor moaning softly.

The Deputy put his gun back in its holster and pulled out his handcuffs. "How did you overpower him?" He asked with a hint of awe.

"I'm a lumberjack," Dexter explained.


	9. The Sheriff's Station

A different Deputy led Dexter into an office in the corner of the sheriff's station, and indicated one of the chairs. Dexter sat warily.

"The Sheriff wants you to wait here until he's though at the hospital," he said.

"Am I in trouble?" Dexter asked.

"Of course, not," The Deputy said with a hint of astonishment. "Can I get you a cup of coffee while you wait … I'm afraid our coffee isn't very good."

"Thanks, I could use the caffeine," Dexter said. "It's been a long night."

"Of course," the Deputy left. He was back in under a minute holding a cup of coffee. "Here you are." He handed the cup to Dexter and then left, saying, "I'll be right out here if you need anything."

"What's the first rule of the code?" Harry asked.

"Don't get caught." Dexter replied automatically.

"So what are you doing in a sheriff's office with a deputy guarding you?" Harry asked.

"I haven't been arrested," Dexter objected.

"Not yet, but you aren't free, either," Harry warned.

"Dexter is a fucking hero," Debra said. "They just need to fill out their reports."

"Dexter is sitting in a police station with a syringe of M99 in his pocket," Harry said. "That could require some explaining."

 _Harry was right. I needed to get rid of the M99._

Dexter went to the door. As he appeared in the doorway, the Deputy looked up from his desk and asked, "Do you need something?"

"Washroom?" Dexter asked.

"Down that hall," the Deputy pointed and looked back at his paperwork.

"Thanks," Dexter went into the bathroom and went to a stall. Doing a quick scan for cameras, he took the syringe out, broke it in half, tossed it into the toilet and flushed it down.

"Maybe you can slip out without him seeing you," Harry suggested.

"Just wait for the Sheriff," Debra said, "You did the right thing. Don't mess it up by running off."

After a moment's hesitation, Dexter went back into the Sheriff's office.

 _The Deputy didn't look up when I went by. I don't think he is guarding me._

A short time later, a sturdy, grey haired man, came into the office and said, "Hello, Mr. Driscoll, I'm Sheriff Stewart." He held out his hand and Dexter stood up to shake it. Stewart moved behind his desk and waved for Dexter to sit down. "Sit down," he said. "I'm sorry to keep you waiting here, I know you want to get home but I just need to ask a couple of questions while everything is still fresh."

"How can I help?" Dexter asked.

"I got a good account from Darlene, after the first dose of sedative kicked in and she started to calm down. The woman has had a very bad night, one that would have been a whole lot worse without you," Stewart said. "She told me about being taken at _The Waystation_. She says he used something like ether. Is that what it looked like to you?"

"Maybe," Dexter said. "I was listening to the radio in my truck when I saw them. He put something over her mouth and she passed out. It certainly could have been something like ether, I don't know."

"Right," Stewart said. "She woke up tied to that chair looking at all those knives and then he started cutting on her. She thought she was going to die and then you came though the door." He smiled, "She's rather enthusiastic about what a hero you are. She also said you were an angel sent by God in response to her prayers." He shrugged, "Although that could have been the drugs kicking in."

"I'm pretty sure I'm not an angel," Dexter said with a smile.

 _No angel would do what I have done._

Stewart laughed, "Well, I rather think you are at least a hero. You were unarmed and you went in there anyway. We told you to wait for the deputy. What made you do it?"

"I had to know what was happening," Dexter said. "I looked through the window and when I saw what he was doing … well, I kind of lost it."

"And decided to take him on bare handed?" Stewart asked.

"I was just going to try to distract him," Dexter said. "Make him stop cutting her. I knew the deputy would be there soon. Once I got one of his knives he turned out to be not very tough. I guess he's only brave around helpless women."

"The bastard," Stewart said. "Well, you are a hero. The news media will be all over you."

 _That would be a very bad idea._

"The news media?" Dexter asked. "Why will they be interested?"

"This is going to be a big case," Stewart said. "The FBI is coming down tomorrow to take over. That's why I'm trying to get my report wrapped up tonight. The cameras will probably get here at the same time. This isn't the first time he's done this. We found evidence that he had at least seven earlier victims. I don't think it worked out as well for them as it did for Darlene."

 _I don't think so either._

"Look, Sheriff," Dexter said. "I'm a private guy. I don't feel very heroic and I don't want a lot of fuss. I certainly don't want to be giving interviews. Is there any way you can keep my name out of this?"

 _My real name, that is._

"I understand," Stewart said. "I have to give a full report to the FBI of course, but we'll keep as quiet as possible about your involvement in our public statements." He thought for a minute and added, "If you really want to stay out of the story, you might want to go off hunting or fishing for a week or two."

"That sounds like a good idea," Dexter said. "You won't need me?"

"No, tonight's events are all pretty straightforward," Stewart answered. "I've got all I really need from you, I'm sure you want to get home."

"Where's my truck?" Dexter asked.

"It's back at the cabin. I'll have one of my deputies give you a ride out to it." Stewart stood up and held out his hand.

Dexter stood up and shook his hand, "Thank you."

"No, thank you." Stewart disagreed. "However you tell it, I still think what you did was pretty damned heroic."


	10. Come Together in Me Now

By the time Dexter reached his cabin there was beginning to be a hint of light in the East. He got out of the pickup and stood looking at the cabin.

"You're going to have to leave," Harry said.

"I know," Dexter said, "at least for a while. My identity won't stand up to an FBI forensic team."

"If they even look at you," Debra said. "You're the fucking hero."

"I can't take that risk." Dexter said. "Besides, I'm not a hero, I'm a serial killer."

"Today, big brother, you are a fucking hero," Debra said. "You caught the bad guy and saved the girl. A fucking angel from God, no less."

"That's not who I am, Deb," Dexter said. "I don't think God sent me."

"Well whoever did, you were what Darlene needed last night." Debra said. "She's alive today because of you. A lot of good people are alive today because of you. It isn't just about who you've killed but how many you've saved."

"I'm still a monster," Dexter said.

"That's only a part of what you are," Debra said. "There's a lot of good in you too, you need to embrace it. Tell me the truth, didn't you feel good about how the night ended? Bad guy in cuffs, pretty girl in your arms?"

 _There had been a moment when I could see defeat in his eyes. That was almost as good as when the knife went into a victim's heart. Maybe better because it lasted. Death was such a quick release. His defeat would go on and on. And the clean-up was easier._

"Maybe, Deb." Dexter said. "I have to get packed. I want to get on the road. I don't want to sleep here; the FBI would be in town by the time I woke up. I can drive a couple of hours get a room and wake up a hundred miles away."

Dexter went into his cabin and started packing his things.

"Don't take everything," Harry said. "You don't want it to look like you fled."

"Just the things I don't want to lose and enough clothes for a two week vacation," Dexter agreed. "If I don't come back, I can abandon the rest. I don't really have much."

"It won't be safe to come back," Harry said. "You'll have to relocate."

"I'll monitor the story in the news and see what develops," Dexter said. "I might be able to come back safely in a couple of weeks."

In all, it was just a couple of boxes. He put them in the back of his pickup and then went back in for the "bug out" bag that he had brought from Miami. He checked it and he still had quite a bit of cash, some passports and other id's. He stopped at his kitchen table and left a note saying "Gone Fishing, back in two weeks."

 _That will give me a head start if someone comes looking for me._

He locked the cabin door behind him and walked out to the truck. The dawn was coming and the sky was grey.

"Where are you going?" Harry asked. "Seattle, San Francisco? Las Vegas would be a good place to lose yourself. There are probably some good candidates for your table there."

Dexter heard the honking of geese and looked up to see another V shape heading south toward the mountains where the first glint of morning sun was touching the snow cap.

"I think Dexter should go a lot farther," Debra said, "about seven thousand miles. It's summer down there, Dex. You could take Harrison to the beach."

"Dexter can't lead a normal life and be a serial killer," Harry said. "He tried to do both before and it didn't work out well."

"Then he should just work on having a life," Debra said, "and give up the killing."

"I still have the darkness, Deb." Dexter said. "It will never go away."

"It doesn't have to, Dex," Debra said. "But it's only a part of you. There is a hell of a lot more than darkness to you. You have light as well. Fucking embrace it."

"I don't know if I can," Dexter said. "I'd like to."

He watched the geese as they were vanishing out of sight to the south, then sighed and opened the door of his truck, tossing the "bug out" bag behind the seat. He looked over at Debra sitting next to him.

"Seven thousand miles is a long drive," Dexter said.

"I'd love a road trip with my big brother," Debra said.

"I don't think I can do it without your help, Deb. You're my moral compass." Dexter said. "Will you help me?"

"I'll always be here to help you Dex, I'm a part of you now," Debra said.

Dexter smiled at her and started the engine.

 _Half asleep I hear a voice._

 _Is it only in my mind?_

 _Or is it someone calling me, someone I failed and left behind?_

 _To work it out I let them in._

 _All the good guys and the bad guys that I've been_

 _All the devils that disturbed me and the angels that defeated them somehow_

 _Come together in me now._

(Phantom's Theme – Paul Williams)


End file.
